


Garters

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset





	1. Chapter 1

“Emma,” he said, gently closing the door behind him. 

“Steed.” She followed with her eyes as he walked past her.

“Do you trust me?”

What else had she been doing for the past year? "Of course I trust you, Steed.”

He nodded and took her hand, leading her into the middle of the room. His coat he laid across the back of the chair, smoothing out the lapels. Then he turned to her, hands on his hips and a slight smile on his face. Emma shifted, wondering what he expected her to do. He came towards her. His focus never changed, the same glint in his eyes, a spark of fire that would not be put out and that she longed to feed.

Wordless still, he began to unbutton her blouse, his thick yet nimble fingers working the buttons with ease. Emma tried to raise her hands to help him, but he gave them a gentle tap.

“You need to trust me,” he said.

“Steed…” 

“Let me do this, Emma.”

Her blouse opened and fanned away from the skin. He ran his palms across her chest, pausing on her lace-covered breasts, and down her stomach, leaving a wave of constricting flesh in his wake. He undid the top button of her skirt, dropped the zipper on the side and let it fall to her feet.

“Why, Mrs. Peel,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips.

She’d put on the garters and belt that morning with the express purpose of causing that reaction. Steed had his own dark little desires, and usually the sight of her in black garters and lace provoked displays of amorous intensity. She enjoyed dressing for him, enjoyed knowing how he would react when he saw her, the way he looked at her with undisguised lust. He liked it, and she liked what it brought out in him. A marvelous win-win. As his eyes met hers, she saw that the spark was expanding into a flame.

But he made no move to take her to the bed. Instead he picked the skirt up from around her feet, then hung it over the back of the chair with his coat. She rested a hand on her hip.

“Now what, Steed?” she asked.

“Licentious creature. No patience.”

He returned to her, stood close enough that she could feel the heat from his skin beneath his clothes, smell the warm flavor of his soap, his cologne, and the scent that was his alone.

With the flats of his hands he caressed the smooth curves of her hips, fingers ghosting across the edges of the blouse she still wore open. He drew back one side of the blouse and kissed her shoulder with an open mouth, teeth briefly sinking into the flesh.

“Still trust me?” he rumbled and shivers ran down her spine. His hand rested on her torso, fingers splayed.

“Yes,” she said.

He slid his hand down lower, caressing her through her panties with the same feather-light touch. Too light to be anything more than frustrating. 

“Yes,” she whispered as he scraped one long middle finger along her crotch, exerting just a bit more pressure with his nail. Her hips moved against him.

Steed sank down until he was on his knees before her. He held her steady by her hips as he kissed the front of her panties, nuzzling against her, the pressure and friction still not quite enough. She let out a gasp of arousal and frustration and felt him chuckle, the vibration adding to the exasperating effect. He ran one hand across the exposed flesh of her upper thigh, taking time to tuck a finger beneath the garter.

“Tease,” he said.

“Look who’s…”

The rest of her sentence cut off when he slid an index finger beneath her lace panties. She moaned at that bare pressure, then looked down. He was gazing up at her, amusement and desire at war in his expression.

“John, stop teasing me,” she said, stroking his hair, burying her fingers into the thick curls.

Calling him by his first name was guaranteed to provoke a reaction as surely as a black lace garter belt. He hooked his fingers into the band of her panties and slid them down as far as he could before they were stopped by garters and stockings. It was far enough.

She jolted, the direct feel of his mouth on her clitoris sending a shock straight up her spine, and held his head to steady herself. One arm came around her leg to hold her, while the other hand toyed with her, spreading her wider. He kissed her again with a bare brushing of his lips, then opened his mouth. His tongue glided along her folds, avoiding her clitoris for the moment, until she gave a whine of frustration and tried to press against his face.

Another jolt went through her as he slid a finger inside her. She felt desperate; her hands pulled on his hair, trying to concentrate on remaining standing even as he licked her, as the finger slid in and out. Other parts of her body begged to be touched, to be subjected to the same delicious technique, but that would have to wait. She couldn’t even let go of him long enough to relieve them herself. 

“Say it again,” he said. For a moment, she didn’t know what he meant, felt robbed by the removal of his tongue when he spoke.

“John,” she said, caressing the back of his neck.

It was a private name, only to be used in these most intimate moments. In public he was Steed, but when they made love he was always John.

He sucked on her clitoris and she threw her head back, thrusting against his mouth. She almost came then, was on the point of it, but he pulled his head away at the last moment.

“Again,” he said.

“John.”

He braced both arms around her legs, fingers digging into her buttocks. His tongue flicked over her as he took her once more into his mouth. 

“Again.”

“John. John!"

He sucked until she was throbbing. Sounds she’d only ever made with him came unbidden to her lips. 

She was grateful for the arms bracing her, for otherwise she might have collapsed. She felt as though she would shatter into a thousand pieces if he didn't hold her together. As it was her knees turned to water while the rest of her body lit up. She cried out, repeated his name over and over, spasming against him, fingers pulling on his hair. He held her upright, anchored her as he pleasured her, drawing out the orgasm with mouth and tongue until she was blind to the world around her, his name echoing through her body.

She didn’t really come back to herself until he was lifting her up and lying her down on the bed. 

She opened her eyes as he unbuckled the garters. 

His hair was ruffled, a complete mess; he looked gloriously, beautifully disheveled. 

“John,” she said, smiling.

“Emma.”

His gaze never broke from hers. The hands that so recently held her together now caressed her legs as he slid the stockings down and off. Emma idly wondered who had dealt the cards that made her so lucky. She held her arms out and he fell into them, kissing her mouth.

“Why are you still dressed?” she asked.

“Give me five minutes.”

She had intentions of remaining awake until he came back, and thanking him properly for his attentions. But she must have dozed off, because the next she knew Steed had climbed into bed beside her and the lights were going out. She nestled down against his bare chest and hooked one leg over his. Even when they slept in the same bed, Steed always put on pajama bottoms before settling down to sleep. She suspected that it was because he enjoyed her taking them off.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” she said, playing with the hairs on his chest. 

“What doesn’t…ow! That’s attached to me, you know.”

“Sorry. After all that, for me to be too tired to…”

“Oh. I won’t hold that against you.” He stroked her arm. “I’ll wake you up early and you can apologize for being so unfair, as many times as you like.”

She laughed and kissed his neck. “Thank you, John.”

“Mm. You can do something for me, though.”

“Yes?”

“Will you wear those garters again tomorrow?”

“Why, Mr. Steed!”

“Will you?” 

She snuggled down into the crook of his neck. “Only for you, John. Only for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The party had been long and tedious, scientists and mathematicians speaking of things that Steed could not bring himself to fully understand. He’d always considered himself an intelligent man, but some of Emma’s colleagues made him feel like a schoolboy again. Difficult, especially as he’d spent the evening watching Emma Peel flit and flirt and make conversation he could not quite keep up with. It made him proud, but it also frustrated him. There were other things frustrating him too, at the moment… 

They were barely in through the bedroom door before Steed stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Emma’s neck.

“I thought you’d never leave.” 

“Steed, I begin to think that you have no interest in my mind.”

He rested his hands on her hips. “I have interest in every single part of you. There are merely times when some take precedence over others.” 

“You know, I should go straight back to that party and take that lovely young man who offered to buy me a drink up on his offer.”

“You do and I’ll … ”

"You’ll what?" 

He pulled her close.

“Mrs. Peel, as you well know, I love your heart, your mind, and the body that those two glorious organs occupy.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” 

She kissed his nose. Steed leaned in and captured her lips with his. She tasted like champagne and foie gras. 

“I’m sorry if you were bored, Steed.” 

“Make it up to me,” he said, dotting kisses along her neck and beginning to draw up the fabric of her dress. “You know, there’s something I’ve been wondering about all evening…”

“Ah! You just wait. I’ll be right back.” She wriggled away from him, an amused smile on her face, and walked toward the bathroom. “And don’t you do anything, Steed.”

“What can I possibly do without you?” 

Steed kicked off his shoes and socks – he supposed that that was not doing anything - and paced the room while he waited. He’d had definite ideas about how this evening was going to go and thus far it had not followed his plans. Then again, as she said earlier in the evening, “Good things come to those who wait.”

He examined the collection of knick-knacks and photographs on her dressing table – her one acquiescence to female clutter. A photo of her father and mother; a family picture of all three of them, baby Emma beaming toothlessly at the camera with the same brilliant smile she still possessed. Young Emma in a graduation gown. And a photograph of him and her, taken during the summer of last year; that wonderful week in the south of France.

Steed leaned in to get a better look. She was lovely, of course, grinning at the camera just as baby Emma did, her hair a little wind blown. His arm was about her waist, hers on his shoulder. He looked a bit squinty, Steed thought, must have been looking into the sun. There was a vineyard behind them, where they’d stayed for four of their seven days there, enjoying the wine, the sunlight and each other. It was a lovely picture, one of the few of them together. He would have to ask her for a print.

Steed turned when he heard the bathroom door close. All thoughts of asking for a print of anything fled his mind.

“Don’t gape, Steed,” she said, smiling.

It was difficult not to. A black silk negligee he’d never seen before, draped over her lithe body. It covered just enough to leave something to the imagination. Expensive silk stockings encased her long legs, and at the top he could make out the outline of her garters. She smoothed her hair with one hand and smiled at him, affection and amusement playing across her face. He loved that she would pick out underwear and negligees with a thought to him. He didn’t expect it of her, but it was lovely all the same.

“Oh, Emma,” he said and took a step to her. She held up her hand. 

“No. Stay there.”

He did as he was told. She moved towards him, the silk rippling over her breasts and torso. She stopped a few inches from him.

“I wanted to wear this last night, but you were rather impatient,” she said. “You’re going to have to be patient tonight, Steed.”

“I’m a very patient man.”

“I hope so.”

There was a promise in her tone, as well as in the hands that slid up his chest and over his shoulders. She divested him of his coat, casting it across a chair near the bed. Then she began to unbutton his waistcoat. He kept his hands at his sides, enjoyed the sensation of her fingertips pressing against his chest when she worked the buttons. Tie and waistcoat went over the chair. 

She moved slower with his shirt, each button seeming to take an interminable time. Her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light; her finger tips caressed his chest as she bared it, playing with the hairs. It was arousing to be touched by her, so gently and almost reverently. She reverenced him as much as he did her. 

“Mm. Very masculine,” she said, opening his shirt completely. 

She ran her palms across his breast, caressed one nipple and then the other. He gasped, body tightening at her touch. She smiled and traced the pattern of his chest hair, drawing circles on his flesh. 

“You’re teasing me,” he said.

“A little." 

Her finger ran down the centre of his chest.

“Tell me what you want, Steed.”

She slid two fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers and pulled him towards her.

“You.”

“How do you want me?”

She unbuckled his belt. 

“On top of me, beneath me, beside me, in front of me, on your knees before me, on my knees before you …”

She laughed. “One thing at a time.”

“You did ask.”

He paused, his focus shifting to her fingers as they undid the top button on his trousers, causing a constriction as his erection grew firmer. She slid down his zipper, her finger ghosting over him, making him draw in a deep breath to steady himself.

“If you’re not going to be serious…” she said. 

She ran a palm over his erection, giving him just enough friction to make him buck. Then she was kneeling in front of him, easing his trousers down. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting. She mouthed him through his briefs. He tangled his fingers in her hair, relishing the pressure of her lips, so close and yet not close enough, mimicking what he had done to her the night before. If it was her revenge, it was an excellent one. Torturous heat ran up his body from that center, little prickles of cold sweat and throbbing warmth across his skin. He wanted her to either take him or leave him alone, but this in-between point, this sensation of being kissed and sucked by her without the warmth of her mouth, the flick of her tongue against bare flesh … this was agony. 

He made a sound somewhere between a moan and growl when her hand joined her mouth in teasing him. Her fingers rubbed, caressed, fondled, tracing the shape of his genitals within his briefs with no rhythm or direction, seeking only to arouse him and not to satisfy. He gave voice once more to his frustration, aware that he sounded like a caged animal. Only she seemed capable of stripping away all the intelligent civilization he wrapped himself in, turning him from a man of the world into a desperate creature. He would have willingly put himself in a collar and let her lead him by a chain if she liked.

“Emma, please,” he said.

His breath came in short waves as her mouth rounded over the head of his penis.

“Please what?” She turned her head up to him, her own dark eyes reflecting his arousal.

“This is torture.”

She rose, never breaking eye contact. “Then tell me how you want me.”

It was a demand and Steed felt another thrill of arousal. “I want you in that bed.”

She grabbed his hips and walked back until her knees came in contact with her bed. She sank backwards, drawing her legs up at the same time as she pulled him down towards her. He fell on the bed, half on top of her. 

She kissed him, hard, her tongue gliding around his mouth before retreating. One hand caressed the back of his head, toying with the short hairs and overly sensitive nape of his neck. He groaned into her mouth and she smiled against him.

“How do you want me, John?” she repeated her mantra, biting on his lower lip. How could she expect him to answer like that?

She slid her fingers against the length of his penis, still clothed, drew circles on the head. His whole body tightened, the pressure and friction not enough.

“God, Emma,” he managed.

Her eyes laughed at him. “That’s not an answer.”

He kissed her aggressively, wanting to arouse her as she was arousing him. Somehow she managed to free him from the tight briefs, for he felt her bare hand on him. He moved without thinking, thrusting into her hand. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and she stroked him – once, twice – and then withdrew. He heard himself whine. 

She was entirely in control, could have directed him anywhere, to do anything, and he would have, gladly. He lay beside her as she rolled over so that her back was pressed against his front. She brought his hand to her breast, still clothed in silk. He massaged her, felt the nipple harden through the nightdress, her breaths growing a bit more ragged and hips moving reflexively so that she rubbed against his hard naked penis. He tried to slip his hand beneath the silk, but she pulled away.

“Until you tell me,” she said, “you don’t get to make decisions.”

He gave a groan and kissed her neck, playing with the hard point of her nipple.

“I want you underneath me, spreading for me,” he whispered. “I want to enter you, slowly, until I’m so deep I’m a part of you. I want you to leave the garters on while we make love, with your legs around me. I want you to cry out my name as you come.” 

As he spoke, he lifted the hem of her nightdress. The silk shimmered away from her soft skin. Lying beside her, he could see the garters wrapped around the sensitive flesh of her upper thighs, the thick black straps leading up… 

It was as he had hoped, and imagined. She’d put on no underwear beneath the garters and belt. 

“Vixen.” 

He kissed the soft spot beneath her jaw, scraping his teeth against her. His hand caressed her bare buttocks, resisting the urge to plunge his fingers deep inside of her.

“Tease,” she replied.

No one could have called Emma Peel wanton and survived it, but Steed was self-aware enough to know that he enjoyed this game, this knowledge that she would do something like spend the day in a garter belt and no underwear just to appease his desires. She’d bewitched him, this staid cool woman who wrapped herself in black leather, who would wear black garters because he asked her to and found it arousing to play the game with him. 

He bunched the night dress around her mid-section, fingers slipping over the lace of the garter belt and down the long straps to her thighs. The shift from her skin to the shimmering texture of the stockings – that strange contrast aroused him more. With one hand he continued to fondle her breasts, pinching gently on her nipples until they grew hard again. She arched back against his chest, her mouth open and little whines of need escaping her. He reached down and stroked the inside of her thighs, felt her wet already and growing wetter as he slid his fingers through her pubic hair to the hard nub of her clitoris.

“John.”

His name was a breath, a caress, as though in that one word she said all the things they both felt. He loved her. Loved that she would dress for him, and for herself. Loved her brilliance and her humor and her passion as much as he loved the warm body that encased all that she was. 

He pressed two fingers inside of her, slipping through slick warmth as he curved them. She moaned in earnest then, a deep primal cry that signaled his own victory in stripping some of her cool reserve away. Her arm wrapped around his head as he ran kisses down her neck and shoulder, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. He stroked her again, rubbing the ball of his thumb against her aroused clitoris while he pinched a nipple gently. She stiffened. Another beautiful cry came from her throat when a small orgasm shuddered through her.

He withdrew his hand from between her thighs, swept it down across the garters and her silken legs. She rolled to face him, throwing one leg around his hip, opening herself to him. He drew the nightdress up until he uncovered her breasts – small and perfect, exactly the right size for his hands and mouth. Even as he kissed them he felt her hands on his chest, stroking the hairs. She dragged a fingernail across his nipple and the sensation shot through him, a direct line from one erogenous zone to another. 

“Now, John,” she rasped into his ear. 

He didn’t need to be told again. He rose above her, pressing her knees down with both hands. For a moment, he marveled at her, at her beauty, her arousal, her total willingness to be vulnerable to him. She looked up at him with such adoration that it went straight through his heart. He had done nothing to deserve this, but there she was. 

He entered her in one slow thrust, so that she could feel his entire length and he could feel the thrill of finally being inside her. Even as he did her muscles contracted in another small orgasm. She was warm and wet, tight around him, and she let out a ragged moan as he filled her, feeling himself filled.

Her arms curved around his back beneath his shirt and she raised her knees until they were almost level with her shoulders. The garters and stockings rubbed against his sides as he thrust into her a second time, as slowly as the first. He was thrilled again with a sense her almost wantonness, and the knowledge that she would do this with no man but him.

There was nothing better than being inside her, nothing more wonderful than feeling her pushing back against him as he moved, drawing in and out as slowly as he could, coaxing rising wails from her throat. Electricity coursed up his body to his brain and back again, the wonderful feel of her slick warmth, the small contractions of her muscles as she came closer to climax. Her cries grew louder, beginning to meld with his grunts. He touched her breasts and spread the glistening sweat across her chest, closed his lips over one pink nipple and sucked as he thrust again. She tightened her legs and give a short, almost painful cry. Her nails scraped down his back, raising what he knew would be long red scratches, her mark on him that he would carry for a few days, proof of her passion and her possession.

She moaned for him to go deeper and he did, plunging as far into her as he could and then pulling back out, the exquisite warmth of her sending shivers to the pleasure center of his brain. Soon he had to go faster, couldn’t stop himself, wanted to bring her to that peak and reach it with her. Her muscles gripped him, her voice called out to him, her skin rising to a blush as her head snapped back, screams of increasing depth and sound roaring through his head. His own voice joined hers as the mounting pressure threatened to overwhelm him.

He felt her begin to spasm around him, shaking, calling out his name. He cried hers too, a moan that came from far deep within him, a name that meant everything to him. He came, exploding inside of her, filling her completely, emptying himself into her, because he loved her, he belonged to her, and she could have everything.

Steed slumped away to the side, breath heaving. Waning twitches still shook his muscles, then his whole body felt limp. Face pressed into the cotton duvet, he idly wondered if he’d ever be able to move again. Slowly, some reason began to return and he turned his head. Emma lay beside him on the bed, her face flushed and eyes a bit glazed. When he moved, she looked at him. His heart flooded with affection and a touch of pride at the satisfaction in her face. She brushed a damp curl out of his eye, her smile languid and sleepy.

“Perhaps I should wear garters more often,” she said.


End file.
